On the Brink of Yesterday
by Brianne Crandle
Summary: Draco Malfoy is fataly posioned by accident one day in Potions and only Ginny Weasly knows the cure. Well, the woman who possesses her from time to time does anyway. Soon Draco finds himself reluctantly at the center of something thats beyond imagination.
1. Snow Stained Red

Authors Notes: I wrote this after my first atempt on something similar, but YES this almost has an entirly diffrent plot...well sort of. I hope you like it! Oh and thanks to Water_Goddess! My awsome beta!**_  
  
  
  
Chapter One_**_   
**Snow Stained Red**   
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Excerpt from _Famous Witches and Wizards: Before the Age of Merlin - By Wenda Raven_   
  
Page 2,007 -   
  
_~The legend of the witch Queen Irisel of the year 800 B.C. is not a well remembered legend among the common Wizarding society of today. She was the only daughter of the exiled High Priestess Nariana of an island that is today believed to be the lost enchanted island of Avalon: as any school child will know it is where the creation of all things magical began (see page 4,087 for details). Queen Irisel's exact date of birth is unknown, but she was believed to have been born sometime in the year 780 B.C., somewhere in the coastal lands of Britain. She was a child of the Beltane fires and her father was the Great Hunter, and by tradition was left anonymous.   
  
Three years before Irisel's birth the land of Avalon had been corrupted through the Dark Arts and had become infested with the demons of the Dark Lord and his unknown mistress, forcing the kingdom of Avalon to seek refuge on the main land, where they were scorned and persecuted by the common folk. The High Priestess Nariana saw hope in her slowly blooming daughter, who had no knowledge of her heritage, other than her mothers healing arts. Irisel is rumored to have grown up in the wild country outside of Yorkshire and knew little of ordinary people, save what she heard from her mother and the few people whom she lived with. But from an early age the High Priestess knew her only daughter was special. She had the gift of the gods, she could commune with nature and nurture the earth, bend it to her will, or so the records say. Irisel's power was dangerous and unpredictable and she grew up with no knowledge of her strange behavior. Until the day she learned of King Teritan of Avalon, the Dark Lord of hell its self.   
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_The High Priestess Nariana is believed to have died of natural causes sometime in 798 B.C., leaving Irisel at the young age of fifteen, alone and unprepared. Irisel harbored a hard and blind hate for the Dark Lord and his equally evil Queen, and vowed on her mother's grave to regain the sacred land of her people.   
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_At the age of seventeen Irisel had gathered an army of over a twenty thousand, both of fey and British decent. But it wasn't until sometime in 795 B.C. that she met the British wizard warrior, Jared of HallowWood, and joined forces with he and his vastly larger army. The details of many of their battles are sketchy and ill recorded (see page 3,007 for details), but sometime in the year 790 B.C., Irisel was named Queen by her people and led a final battle, with her Champion Jared of HallowWood at her side, into the black land of Avalon. Irisel, her beau, and the Dark Lord were lost forever in a blinding clash of magic that was said ...to blind the hearts of men and scar the soul.... The battle was won that day but the only Witch Queen recorded in history was lost, and Avalon's evil Queen disappeared from history.   
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_**S**oft snow drifted downwards languidly, like diamonds from the frosty gray sky above. A light caressing wind made erotic patterns of the fine downy ice, sending it in wild dances through the air. From a high icy tower in the East Wing, Ginny Weasley watched as they fluttered past the window she was staring fixedly out of. She thought longingly of the warm cozy dormitory that awaited her, the cup of exquisite, steamy hot chocolate, with vanilla of course, that would be sitting at her bedside when she arrived. Turning away from the snowy storm outside she directed her thoughts towards the book settled on the table in front of her. The class room around her was bitterly silent save for Colin Creevey's breathy snores a few desks in front of her. She sat in the back of the room in the corner desk, right next to a small glass window that when clear, had a wonderful view over the Forbidden Forest.   
  
Ginny sighed wearily and let her soft brown eyes skim over the paragraph she was supposed to be reading. All of class she had tried desperately to focus on the lesson but her mind kept straying towards nothing in particular. She was freezing as well, her toes numb in her black glossy shoes, her thread bare, second hand cloak no match for the chill of the room. If only Professor Binns wasn't dead and had the perception to start a fire in the warmly awaiting fireplace just behind his nearly transparent body. At least he wasn't lecturing anymore, she reminded herself, trying desperately to look on the bright side as she suppressed a shiver, pulling her much too long sleeves over her chilled fingers.   
  
Sinking back into herself Ginny started out the window once more. Here she was a sixth year, half way through, and she still felt like a lost first year looking for Hagrid and his rickety boats at the Lake. All her Hogwarts years she had felt apart and different, but... how could she not when she held the stain of darkness on her soul so kindly placed by the late Tom Riddle. She wasn't depressed, nor did she wish to be alone, her nightmares happened rarely and she felt mostly normal. But there was something else, something that stirred beneath the surface, like the calm before a storm, that drew her away from the common worries of people her age. Ginny shuddered from the cold and sunk lower in her chair, eyes focused on the snow drifting lazily outside the frosted window.   
  
An uneasy quiet had settled over the Wizarding world, the Dark Lord was out there somewhere bidding his time. He had been ever since his last encounter with Harry his fifth year. This time Ginny shuddered from the pain of memory, what a horrible year that had been. Thinking of Harry always brought tears to her eyes, she would always harbor something of a crush on the Boy Who Lived, but most of all she felt a deep sense of pity and a quiet understanding. She had been touched by darkness once and had barely survived, yet Harry had been subjected to the terrors of Voldemort not once but eight times, and was still expected to achieve victory. Harry was wearing away, his spirit downcast and falling faster and faster towards despair. They were losing him not physically, but spiritually with every day that passed, even Ron and Hermione, were nearly lost to him. Again Ginny shuddered and rose with the rest of the class as Professor Binns dismissed them.   
  
At the door Ginny turned and looked out the small window once more, watching the snow, and wishing that like the small delicate flakes, she could be lost among the white and pure. Nothing was pure anymore. Everything was stained red. The door shut with solemn click behind her.   
  
If only she had known then her life was about to take a horrible turn for the worst.   
  
**  
~*~*~  
  
D**raco loved nothing more than to bait a Weasley into uncontrolled rage. It was like oxygen to him, he couldn't go a day without throwing an insult or two at least one of the redheaded Muggle lovers, it was like a drug. Fun and addictive, but the best part was, they were so very easily riled.   
  
Ronald Weasley, Draco's favorite target, had just failed for the tenth time at producing the right ingredients during a particularly boring class of Potions. It was obvious to everyone that Weasley was merely guessing at which jar held the dried remains of a vampire's heart. Snape looked happy enough to sing, as Weasley, on his final chance, selected a jar of horse-radish.   
  
Draco drawled over the hissing of cauldrons, You're so bloody stupid that you could fall into a barrel full of nipples and come out sucking your thumb.   
  
The Slytherins' laughed cruelly in appropriate quantities of mockery, and Draco noted with unabashed pleasure that both Potter and Weasley became almost instantly red with anger. It was almost too easy, and the way Weasley's ears turned a humorous molten red was well worth it. Draco smirked, pleased despite himself.   
  
Snape himself smiled faintly, well the corners of his thin white lips twitched upwards anyway, before announcing in his normally cold voice that ten points would be taken from Gryffindor because of Weasley's lack of much needed brain cells. Draco felt he had done his duty and returned to calmly slicing the entrails of a goat into little pieces, ignoring the glares from Potter and Weasley a few tables away.   
  
The dungeons were characteristically frigid for the season and Draco's pale fingers were slowly becoming numb with cold. He wondered vaguely if Snape realized how bloody freezing it got down there in the winter, or if he even cared. He should be made to care, Draco thought angrily as he added _his _dried vampire's heart, causing his potion to turn a deep, red blood color.   
  
Ten minutes later Draco was calmly stirring his perfect Invisibility Potion and ladling it into a large glass jar, scribbling his name across the top and setting it proudly on the table beside his notes, making sure Potter and Weasley could see it clearly from the distance. They noticed, as Draco knew they would, and glared at him in pure hatred. Draco had to fight the urge to smile brightly back at them.   
  
A split second before class was to be dismissed, the blundering fool, Neville Longbottom, succeeded in melting his very first cauldron of the year, which was actually quite impressive for the idiot. Draco, who was at the time flicking bits of intestines at the back of Harry's head, wasn't quick enough to escape the great wave of sick brown liquid.   
  
The wrongly concocted Potion struck him full in the chest as it splattered onto the cold stone floor, and Draco felt as though he had been suddenly struck by lightning. His heart stopped mid-beat and his blood froze in his veins, everything was in slow motion, and then he was falling. He was sure he was dying, and fear gripped at the functioning parts of his brain.   
  
Through the haze he heard his fathers voice softly echoing through his befuddled mind, cruel and hard. _Dying for the Dark Lord is the greatest honor Draco, you should never be afraid to die for our Lord, never..._ Draco wasn't quite sure why this occurrence suddenly came to mind, but he supposed he would have to ponder it in hell, and he was quite positive he was headed in that direction. His poor mother would be devastated, if only he could tell her he loved her.....   
  
Then like a candle being blown out, everything faded into black.   
  
**T**he small dismal chamber was completely dark save for a nearly spent candle settled precariously on the rough stone floor. The cold air was stale and smelled of old books and some faintly rotting creature.   
  
Beside the lazily flickering candle sat an open book, and beside that, a dead body. It was the body of a woman. She was beautiful, with long flowing blonde hair that now hung limp about her shoulders, and pillowed around her lolling head. She wore expensive robes of satin and lace, its red color succeeding only in bringing out the pale dead color of her skin and her blue lips. Yes, Narssica Malfoy had been beautiful in life, but in death, she would be not only lovely, but terrible with power.   
  
From the shadows, the Dark Lord cackled mirthlessly and took from his neck a vile of dark blood, with it he began the ceremony that would ensure his victory, a victory not even Harry Potter and his prophecy could stop.   
  



	2. Awakenings

**_Chapter 2 _**  
  
  
**_Awakenings_**  
  
  
  
  
  
The story of Draco Malfoy's collapse in Potions spread like wildfire through the school, and Ginny, who was very sick of hearing about it constantly, couldn't use the lavatory or get through class without hearing some new rendition of Malfoy's untimely demise - or so Ron was feverishly praying would indeed be the outcome. Malfoy had only been in the Hospital Wing for three days and already the story had developed quite a few interesting variations.   
  
  
  
  
  
Some swore that Neville, in a fit of rage, had in fact thrown his entire cauldron over Malfoy's head, knowing perfectly well that it was poisonous - because of this many of his fellow Gryffindors had taken to cheering him in the hallways or during meals. Others whispered that Hermione, who everyone knew slipped Neville tips in Potions whenever possible, had purposely given him the wrong ingredients in hopes of poisoning Draco. This one was widely popular among the Slytherin girls, though it was painfully illogical. After all, how does one predict which way the contents of a melted cauldron are going to fall? Ginny found the whole business rather immature and petty, but it seemed that only person in Hogwarts that shared her views was in fact Hermione.   
  
  
  
  
  
Are you sticking up for- for _Malfoy?!_ Ron sputtered at Hermione in disgust over dinner the eve before Christmas break. Ginny and Harry promptly busied themselves with their plates, careful to stay out of the line of fire.   
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and set down her fork in exasperation, Really, Ron, I heard Professor Sprout and McGonagall talking about him before Transfiguration, they think that the potion might have been _fatal._   
  
  
  
  
  
And your point.... is?   
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione blinked at Ron in disbelief, You can not be serious! He could die, Ron!   
  
  
  
  
  
Ron snorted and took a rather large bite of potatoes, Well, `hat's one less Malfoy in the `orld then `sn't?   
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione, a scowl plastered on her face, didn't seem to know quite how to take Ron's unabashed and guiltless wish of death on the Malfoy heir. She sat there for a moment, glaring down at her plate, then promptly picked up her bag, shooting a look at Ron that would have had Snape on his knees, and walked angrily from the Great Hall.   
  
  
  
  
  
Ron looked a bit lost as he started down at his potatoes, fork held aloft in his hand.   
  
  
  
  
  
It's all right mate, you know how Hermione is, even if it is... M-Malfoy, Harry choked over the name, as he tried to smile encouragingly at his best friend.   
  
  
  
  
  
Oh yeah, sure, Ron said dissmissively, But I think I've found a bit of hair in my potatoes, and its most definitely not mine.   
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny, who had been watching tensely a moment before, suppressed a small snort as Harry's face was suddenly washed clean with relief. Ginny couldn't blame him, the two were unbearable when fighting, but it was a good sign that Ron, at least, appeared to be unaffected. Ginny's thoughts were disrupted the next moment, when she caught her brother comparing the offending hair that had been dug from his potatoes, to one of Parvati's long raven plaits, and she quickly went to the other girls rescue, Malfoy's injures and possible death, far from her mind.   
  
  
  
  
  
~*~*~   
  
  
  
  
  
_The pain was horrible. He thought he might never recover from it. It pulsated from within and contracted with each agonizing beat of his heart, slithering wildly through his veins like a thousand tiny biting snakes. His muscles were tense with the intensity, his mind screaming and screaming over and over again for release, for freedom. He couldn't escape it. It choked him, it cut into him, it slowly began to kill him. Tears washed his face like hot acid, stinging his chest and burning his skin in fear and hate. He hated him, he hated him so much. He wanted to kill him, to make him scream and beg for mercy. Rob him of his damn pride, of his spirit, or his total humanity. And then he would kill him, watch his thick blood flow out of his body and wash the carpets in an ocean of crimson hate. Wanted to kill. Wanted to hurt. Wanted the pain to stop. Hate. Pain. Fear. Kill, kill, kill, KILL!!! _  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco awoke to his own hoarse screams. Jerking up right on the small bed, his eyes opened wide in fear and confusion. He stopped screaming almost instantly and fell back into the softness of the bed with a low groan, a wave of white hot pain searing through his chest. His hand immediately flew up to grasp at his heart, only to find damp bandages wrapped tightly against his skin.   
  
  
  
  
  
After a long horrible moment, the pain began to subside slightly and he looked blurry eyed up at his blood and sweat smeared hand, it quivered and he let it drop back onto the bed. He hungrily gulped in air and tried to regain some sense of stability about him, some knowledge of where he was and how he'd got there.   
  
  
  
  
  
The room was dark and it took his eyes a moment to adjust, his aching head pounding all the harder with the strained effort. He lay on his back in tangled white sheets, dressed only in a long blue night shirt that reached barely to his knees. He, and the bed were surrounded by starch white curtains, soft moon light filtering through the thin material so he could see the vague outlines of other beds. He was in the Hospital Wing, he finally assessed. Draco relaxed slightly into the welcoming matters, closing his eyes, and breathing shallowly.   
  
  
  
  
  
The door across the room burst open a moment later, causing Draco to lurch awake in surprise, another shot of pain piercing through his heart. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and gritted his teeth, tasting blood, and tried desperately to hear what the two people out side his bed were saying.   
  
  
  
  
  
He keeps moaning in his sleep Headmaster, about someone... someone hurting him, torturing him, and we still have no idea what's wrong with him or what the potion is that did this to him. It's like nothing we've ever seen before, a woman said fearfully in a hushed voice.   
  
  
  
  
  
Draco recognized the soft feminine voice to be Madam Pomfrey's, and he assumed the other looming shadow to be the tall form of Professor Dumbledore.   
  
  
  
  
  
The Headmaster sighed softly, Professor Snape and I have an idea of what the potion might have been, Poppy, but if our conclusion is indeed correct, there is very little we can do for Mr. Malfoy.   
  
  
  
  
  
Draco's heart skipped a beat and he closed his eyes tightly against a sudden rising sense of fear. Was he dying?   
  
  
  
  
  
His mother hasn't responded to our letters, Madam Pomfrey said with a shaky voice, it sounded as though she were on the verge of tears. Draco didn't think he'd ever had anyone cry over him before, let alone feel sorry for him.   
  
  
  
  
  
I know Poppy.... I've- I've heard unsettling rumors about Narissca Malfoy, Dumbledore said softly, and Draco's eyes flew open. What had happened to his mother?   
  
  
  
  
  
What should we do Professor? Isn't there anything we can do for the boy?   
  
  
  
  
  
Professor Snape is trying to find a cure using a sample of the potion as we speak, but he has yet to come up with anything substantial.   
  
  
  
  
  
Madame Pomfrey whimpered slightly.   
  
  
  
  
  
Draco forced himself to breath quietly and not break out into cries of reckless panic. He opened his eyes and looked blindly up at the high stone ceiling above, now more confused, and afraid than he had ever been in his life, and that was saying something.   
  
  
  
  
  
If-When he wakes, what do you want me to tell him Headmaster? Pomfrey asked painfully.   
  
  
  
  
  
Send someone to get me, Poppy, I'll try and explain the situation to the boy as best as I can.   
  
  
  
  
  
Of course, Headmaster, she sounded relieved.   
  
  
  
  
  
I must be off now Poppy, I'm making a trip to Malfoy Manner this evening. Not only has Narissca not responded to your owls, but she hasn't reported to the Order in nearly three weeks.   
  
  
  
  
  
Dumbledore sounded worried, but this was lost on Draco. The Order? As in the Order of the Phoenix?! Oh yes, Draco had heard about it, on numerous occasions, from his father - who'd faced quite a few of its members during the first War. Was his mother a part of this Order? Had she betrayed Voldemort? Had she betrayed his father? Or more importantly, had she betrayed _him? _  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco glared up at the ceiling in anger and turmoil, he felt alone and unsure of himself for the first time... in a very long time. He didn't fall asleep till long after Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore had left, behind the soft swishing of robes and hurried whispers. And Draco found himself alone with his nightmares and memories, again.   
  
  
  
  
  
~*~*~   
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny waved happily good-bye to her friends on the steps of Hogwarts, as they bounced away in the Thestral drawn carriages just as the sun began to fall behind the distant snow capped mountains. It was three days before Christmas and everything was perfect. The four of them; Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Harry, were all staying behind for the holidays -Mr. and Mrs. Weasley being quite busy with the Order had written them about the change of plans the evening before.   
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione sighed softly from her place beside Ginny and drew her cloak more firmly about her, waving in turn as Neville said his final good-byes from a carriage window. They stood silently for a time, watching the long row of the happily departed disappear into the hazy distance. The day was of course chilly, and fresh snow blanketed the spacious grounds, the frozen waters of the Lake glimmering in the setting sun, painting the snow in oranges and yellows. It reminded Ginny warmly of buttered mashed potatoes. She smiled slightly to herself at the strange thought, it appeared Luna's course of intellectual expanse had rubbed off on her - Ron would not be pleased, which some how made the idea slightly more bearable.   
  
  
  
  
  
Nearby, Harry and Ron had, rather loudly, begun a small snow ball fight. Harry was half hidden behind a pine tree while Ron, shouting at the top of his lungs, pelted the visible parts of him with snow. Ginny smirked and elbowed Hermione softly in the ribs, pointing mischievously at Ron. Hermione grinned and the two girls crept silently behind a large stone statue just behind Ron.   
  
  
  
  
  
On the count of three then, Ginny whispered, ducking back behind the cool marble of the statue. Hermione nodded sharply and they both, in a completely business like manner, collected handfuls of snow, molding them expertly into hard packed globes, ready for battle. Ginny smiled at Hermione and used her fingers to count down to three. When Ginny's ring finger rose to make three, they both jumped out from behind the statue with loud giggling cries.   
  
  
  
  
  
There was no one in sight. They froze and Ginny frowned, looking around her suspiciously, the two boys had been there only moment before. Suddenly Ginny was struck, hard, on the side of the head by a large snowball. She gasped, alarmed, as cold ice dripped down beneath her warm wool scarf. Harry, who'd hidden behind a few low bushes a few feet away, burst out in fits of laughter.   
  
  
  
  
  
You should've se-seen the look on-on your face! Ron cried, clutching as his sides that were aching with laughter. A snowball promptly connected with his nose and a smug faced Hermione bent to collect another.   
  
  
  
  
  
The fight lasted well past sunset and into the night, but the large torch lit windows of the castle above gave them plenty of light to play by. The teams often switched or rearranged depending on who wanted to get revenge on whom. Though it quickly became apparent that the girls had quite a few hidden talents when it came to snow ball fighting: Hermione, for instance, was excellent at long distant attacks and Ginny was wonderful at sneaking up on people.   
  
  
  
  
  
By the time they were ready to head in, tired and wet, Ron and Harry were worse off by far, and Ginny couldn't help but smile cheekily at her soaking older brother.   
  
  
  
  
  
Next time we'll have Neville and Dean come along, that was bloody humiliating, Ron groaned and Harry smiled.   
  
  
  
  
  
I'm freezing, Hermione shivered, Let's go visit Dobby in the kitchens and have some hot chocolate.   
  
  
  
  
  
Oh that does sound lovely, Ginny moaned and the four of them started through the snow towards the castle, Ron grumbling and shivering all the way. Harry was silent as usual, and Ginny frowned as she walked. He'd looked so happy that evening, almost like he used to, before... before Sirius... before Hagrid's disappearance a few months ago.   
  
  
  
  
  
She looked back at him through the darkness and he smiled at her softly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Ginny turned away, eyes stinging, there was so much pain in his eyes, so much loss. If only he would talk to her. Didn't he understand that in a small way, she understand how he felt? She'd felt the emptiness before, the horrible shard of darkness in her heart. If anyone could listen, could help, it was her. He just needed to give her a chance....   
  
  
  
  
  
Is that a wand? Hermione whispered suddenly in her ear, Ginny jumped slightly and shook her head, blinking away her dark thoughts and trying to focus on what Hermione was pointing to.   
  
  
  
  
  
Some yards away, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, lay what appeared to be a lit wand, lying alone in the snow. Ginny's brow furrowed, people rarely lost their wands, well, except for Neville. Ginny was about to suggest that perhaps Neville had in fact left his wand miraculously behind, but found that Hermione had already sprinted ahead of them to pick up the discarded wand. The others quickened their pace as Hermione began poking around in the foliage, looking for some kind of clue as to who might have, rather stupidly, left their wand behind.   
  
  
  
  
  
Harry, Ron and Ginny were nearly upon her when suddenly, Hermione let out a horrified scream that caused them all the stop mid- stride, the blood draining from their faces. Still screaming, Hermione stumbled out of the trees, her face ghostly white, mouth open in terror and shock, brown eyes huge and dilated with pure fear.   
  
  
  
  
  
Harry called in alarm and rushed to her, turning her around and shaking her. Hermione instantly burst out in uncontrollable tears, burying her face in Harry's shoulder, mumbling incoherently. Ron and Ginny quickly went to investigate, wands raised, peering through the bushes where Hermione had been searching moments before.   
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny roughly pushed aside a rather prickly looking bush and discovered something that would stay imbedded in her mind for years and years to come. On the ground in bloody, disfigured tatters, lay a young girl in a ruined Hogwarts uniform, her brown eyes glazed and staring, blood drenching her auburn hair. The snow around her was stained red, her body was disgustingly deformed, her legs and arms bent in ways that were grossly unnatural.   
  
  
Ginny's hands flew to her gaping mouth and she stumbled backwards with a sob, heart pounding wildly in her ears, something inside her was breaking open, something hidden was making its self known. Ron cursed somewhere behind her, but Ginny didn't care. She was falling apart, breaking from the inside, threatening to destroy. Her knees hit snow, jarring her whole body, but she couldn't feel it, she was miles away. Someone, someone she knew, was calling her name, begging her to come back, but they were so far away. Ginny reached for them desperately, calling to them in panic, but she was lost, lost again, in darkness. Then from the hallows of her mind came a whispering voice that was not her own, a voice that calmed her soul, but created a familiar fear in her heart all at the same time. _Release me! Release me! RELEASE ME!_ And then she was gone, hovering in an abyss of loneliness and fear.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Shadows from the Past

**_Chapter Three  
_**_By: Brianne Crandal  
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Shadows from the Past:  
  
**N**ever, in all his years of careful observation and thorough study, had he felt so utterly _old. _Standing unsteadily before a wide victorian window, Albus Dumbledor wanted nothing more than to sink into the brightly carpeted floor beneath his slippered feet, and disappear.  
  
To think he'd planed everything so perfectly. Wasn't the first rule of war, that everything that can go wrong will? And if they weren't in the midst's of war then...  
  
Closing thin eyelids, he could vividly see the young Ginny Weasly's stiff, frozen body sprawled awkwardly in the snow, her pale faced brother bent over her, screaming her name in pure terror. And poor Jenny Welks, utterly massacred, her short life staining the snow. Her mother had been devastated, he hadn't had an explanation for her, at least not one that even a witch would believe.  
  
How had this happened? Long, long ago he had been warned, warned of what it might mean, but it had seemed too impossible, too... horrible. Even for Voldemort. Would he really awaken _Her? _Was the prophecy true?  
  
How he tired of prophecies.  
  
Opening pale eyes, Dumbledor turned slowly on his heel and strode wearily across the room towards a towering book self at the other end, the Headmasters portrayed above snoring softly. Hesitance radiated from his very skin, as he climbed steadily up the wooden ladder to the very, very top. Skimming bone like fingers over tattered spines, Dumbledor pulled a black book from the far end of the top self, a chill passing through him. The very leather of the bound book felt cold to his touch, as he pulled it slowly from its place, dust seeping through the pages. Holding the book as far from himself as possible, he climbed carefully back down to earth and hobbled towards his study. Waving at a nearly spent candle, the wick bursting into instant flame, he snapped open the tarnished silver clasp of the ancient book, settling it carefully on his paper scattered desk.  
  
It had been many years since he'd looked at the pages within. Flipping through the first few pages, he stopped abruptly at a colorful, nauseatingly detailed picture, and a shiver of fear rattled through his body. For the first time in many, many years Albus Dumbledor would admit that he was terrified, even as he touched quivering fingers to the scene depicted before him. How he had hoped this day would never come. He had been a fool.  
  
Closing his eyes once more, fingers still resting gingerly, fearfully, on the rough parchment, Dumbledore muttered a desperate prayer to God, softly under his breath, for the first in nearly a life time.  
  
_  
  
**S**he dreamed she was in a wide field. So green, so beautiful, she instantly knew it couldn't be real. A soft misty drizzle wafted from the strangely clear sky, and made the young summer grass cling to her bare feet and legs, the moisture sinking slowly into her plain cotton shirt. On an impulse, she raised her milky white arms to the sky and bathed herself in wonderful silver moonlight and warm mist. Then, without even knowing it at first, she began to dance.  
  
A dance that was about the trees and their gently swaying branches and clapping leaves. A dance that told of the cold pure rivers and powerful, ancient mountains. It was a dance about life.  
  
Her young, healthy body swayed and leapt with each turn of the never ending dance. Never had she felt so free, so real, so utterly part of herself. The moon light on her wet body felt like the gentle, nurturing touch of a caring mother. There was sadness in that lingering touch, however, a sadness she couldn't understand. Opening heavy, dark eyes, she stood, breathing heavily beneath the moon, her eyes suddenly filling with cold tears, falling frozen down her face and sending chills through her body.  
  
_It was late morning when Ginny finally woke up, her body heavy and awkward as she struggled to open tired eyes. She almost instantly recognized that she was in the Hospital Wing, having had her share of over night stays in the past. The smells, the stuffy feel of the room, everything was vaguely familiar to her muddled mind. The air was quiet and in closed, and parting her eyes, she could see small dust particles floating lazily in warm, brilliant sunlight. Somehow the bright filtering rays made her slightly uncomfortable, the beautiful power and sadness of the moon in her dreams still clinging to the sub consciences of her mind. Turning her head, energy slowly creeping through her veins and into her neck, she started through the thin wall of the white curtain surrounding her, and was surprised to see the drawn face of Draco Malfoy staring back her, his face unreadable through the haziness of the cotton.  
  
You were dreaming, he said in a voice that told he was not asking her, but telling.  
  
she replied softly, not knowing what else to say, confused and so weary. Her body suddenly feeling far away and she wondered if maybe she was going to black out again, her eyes creeping half closed.  
  
That thought brought back the suppressed terror held feebly at the back of her weary mind. The image of the horrible contorted body of her younger schoolmate swam into sharp perspective as her eyes burned fiercely with the effort to hold back her tears.  
  
She had been dead for only a few hours when you found her you know, a blurry voice said, far off and cruel, Dumbeldor wouldn't say what, or who had done it though. I think he knew I was listening, not that it really matters. She was nothing to anyone, as far as I know she didn't have any friends. Malfoy said softly, obviously deciphering her thoughts from her sudden silence and soft whimpers. His voice was so cold she could almost feel the air chill around her.  
  
You've been unconscience for nearly a week you know, there's a bunch of Christmas gifts at the foot of your bed. Weasly, Potter and Granger have been around most of the time, blubbering even _after _Dumbledor told them you were going to be fine. Pathetic really. Your pathetic too you know, moaning in your sleep, crying, all for a girl you didn't even know. How completely _pathetic. _His voice was full of unabashed disgust, and ridden with hate, a hate she couldn't even begin to understand. It stung in the air and hurt her heart. What could make someone so bitter? So... sad?  
  
Ginny said nothing, she merely rolled over and closed her glistening eyes, hoping for sleep and finding it a blissful moment later, Malfoy's, low, bitter laughter echoing in her mind. Whether or not she had imagined it or not didn't seem very important.  
  
**L**ate that evening, sometime past midnight, Ginny lay awake listening to the soft, steady breathing of Malfoy as he slept motionlessly in the bed next to hers. His broad back faced her, his pale skin apparent even through the clouded moon lit curtains. He was very thin, in a sickly sort of way, his hair like pale moonlit water across the starched pillow. He was handsome in a different sort of way she supposed. In a dark, dangerous way.  
  
Madame Pomfrey had handed her a sleeping draught an hour or so ago, but had bustled off when a startled looking student had arrived suddenly in a huff and she hadn't waited to see if Ginny had actually drunken it or not.  
  
Smiling slightly, she looked down at the cool copper goblet she held loosely in her hands, the liquid stirring gently with each languid breath she took. Hermione and Ron had come to visit her before sunset, Harry had been detained by a detention of which Ginny had only acquired hazy details, and she had assured Ron that Malfoy hadn't hurt her in any way shape or form. In fact, he hadn't spoken to her since she'd awoken for the first time that morning, keeping to himself, writing letters -she guessed that's what they had been anyway-, and staring blankly out the window above his bed. Sometimes she could see the bloodied bandages beneath his night shirt, Madame Pomfrey had to change the dressings often. Ginny had felt a stab of pity the first time she'd seen the horrible wound sprawled angrily across his chest, but his eyes had been so angry, so defiant when he'd looked at her, watery with obvious pain, that she hadn't the courage to feel so again.  
  
Ginny had not mentioned the girl, or her strange reaction to her death, to either her brother or Hermione, but she could feel the tension there. The fear. She longed to comfort them, but knew she couldn't, not when the pain and confusion was still so real. She tried not to think of the strange voice that had resounded in her head moments before her complete fall into ignorance, something about it chilled her. It had not been her voice. The voice had seemed so familiar, like an old friend, but something about the tone, the power dripping from each phrase, had frightened her in a way she had not thought about for years. She shivered.  
  
Sighing softly, Ginny leaned her head back and started at the silver stone of the ceiling above, her thumb rubbing over the warm copper between her fingers. Moments latter she could feel herself drifting slowly back into sleep and she clumsily set the sleeping draught on her cluttered night stand.  
  
Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, Malfoy twisted jerkily onto his back and and produced a scream so violent that windows rattled. Shocked beyond belief, Ginny herself wasn't quick enough to repress a scream of her own. Clawing at the thin sheets that held her, she flung back the curtains and stumbled on weak knees to the twisting form of Malfoy. His screams faded into horse sobs as she approached, his voice losing its self in his cries of terror. Hovering over his bed she realized he was still deeply asleep, his eyes moving restlessly beneath thin eye lids. Bending over him, the years he had tormented her burning through her mind, she stared as blood bloomed thick and red across his drawn chest, soaking through his bandages, and she realized she had to do something. No one deserved to die like this, not even a Malfoy. On an impulse that would later trouble her greatly, she knelt down beside him and pressed her hand palm flat and tense across his quivering white chest. Staring down at his sickly face, so pale and thin, she studied the high rise of his cheek bones, the arch of his golden brows, the full, white lips. Bending, her mind far away, left somewhere behind her in her own bed a few meters away, she pressed her lips firmly to his, and felt the familiar touch of remembrance. Somehow she knew this was not the first time she had kissed Draco Malfoy. Something pressed against her mind, begging for control, but Ginny shoved it away violently. Now frightened, she jerked back, to find Malfoy still beneath her hand, his heart beating wildly within his ribs, and his eyes parted and staring up and into her. Like a gust of Arctic wind Ginny was suddenly aware of herself once more, she instantly shuffled away from him, her heart pounding in her ears, fear pulsing through her veins and clouding her vision.  
  
I always knew you were crazy, he muttered after an intense staring contest in which Ginny imagined a life time had passed.  
  
She didn't respond, but continued to stare at him with wide brown eyes, the moonlight bright on his weary face.  
  
If... you ever touch me again Weasly, I'll kill you... I'll kill you, these last words slipped between gently parted lips and then Malfoy was asleep, breathing steadily once more, his face calm and almost innocent. Almost.  
  
Shivering, her knees pressed roughly into the hard cold stone of the floor, Ginny suddenly realized that nothing was never going to be the same. For months she'd suppressed feelings of anxiety, ignored the foreshadowing signs of danger. Would she ever learn? Blood stained snow was all she could see, and from within she could sense something that was not entirely herself, but something that was desperate to be freed. Crawling ungainly towards her bed, she fell into the mattress and cried herself to sleep, sadness slowly replacing her fear. Nothing was going to be simple ever again.  
  
**G**inny was released the next day, feeling almost normal and even managing to smile when Hermione handed her two weeks worth of make up assignments from all her classes.  
  
She worked extra hard to collect all that for ya Gin, I think she even tortured some of the teachers into assigning you homework, Ron had said sarcastically as the trio escorted her to the dorms. Hermione hadn't looked very pleased, and Harry had had to force himself into a choke to stifle his laughter.  
  
Now sitting at a small round table in the corner of the bustling Griffindor common room, buried in a pile of books, Ginny looked worriedly out a small dark window and out over the placid grounds below, thinking of the last person she should have been.  
  
Malfoy had been moved into his own room at the back of the infirmary the morning after their awkward encounter, she was woman enough to admit she was worried about him. What was wrong with him? What _had _been in Neville's cauldron that day that not even Professor Dumbledore could decipher? Maybe Malfoy really _was _dying. But of course she couldn't voice these concerns to any of her friends, they all hated him quite feverently, admittedly, it was with good reason. _And so do I , _she reminded herself sternly, _I hate him just as much_. But almost without realizing it, she was devising a plan to discover just exactly what was wrong with the young Malfoy heir, a part of her was almost literally screaming the impact the discovery might have. She was so distracted she hardly noticed the odd, stabbing pain in her chest, directly over her heart.  
  
If you were expecting happy ... I'm sorry lol. Hey, Malfoy's dying, and Ginny's falling apart what do you expect? So yeah this is the last chapter that beats around the bush, next chapter we find out exactly what's wrong with our dear Mr. Malfoy, and just who's playing with poor Ginny's mind. So Review eh? Thanks much to all of you that have, its is muchly appreciated.  
  
Bri


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